Free The Secret Circle: The Complete Collection by L. J. Smith Page A

broken neck.” With that, she marched to the landing and up the steps, bringing her foot down on each as if she were stamping on Faye’s face. She didn’t even look back or acknowledge Cassie’s existence.
    Cassie slowly got up and glanced down the long, winding flight of stairs that led to the foot of the hill. She couldn’t have done anything differently, she realized. Sally would have been lucky to break nothing more than her neck before she reached bottom. But now . . .
    She turned to face the three senior girls above her.
    They were still standing with careless, unstudied elegance, but underneath their easy demeanor was violence. Cassie saw it in the sullen darkness of Deborah’s eyes, and in the spiteful curve of Suzan’s lips. But most of all she saw it in Faye.
    It occurred to her, quite incidentally, that these were probably the three most beautiful girls she’d ever seen. It wasn’t just that each had perfect skin, free of the slightest trace of teenage blemishes. It wasn’t their gorgeous hair: Deborah’s dark disordered curls, Faye’s pitch-black mane, and Suzan’s cloud of reddish gold. It wasn’t even the way they set each other off, each one’s distinctive type enhancing the others’ instead of detracting from them. It was something else, something that came from within. A kind of confidence and self-possession that no girl at sixteen or seventeen should have. An inner strength, an energy. A power .
    It terrified her.
    “Well, now, what do we have here?” Faye said in a throaty voice. “A spy? Or a little white mouse?”
    Run, Cassie thought. But her legs wouldn’t move.
    “I saw her this morning,” Deborah said. “She was hanging out in front of the bike rack, staring at me.”
    “Oh, I’ve seen her before that , Debby,” Faye replied. “I saw her last week at Number Twelve. She’s a neighbor.”
    “You mean she’s —” Suzan broke off.
    “Yes.”
    “Whatever else she is, she’s dead meat now,” Deborah said. Her petite face was twisted in a scowl.
    “Let’s not be hasty,” Faye murmured. “Even mice may have their uses. By the way, how long were you hiding there?”
    There was only one answer to this, and Cassie fought not to say it. This was no time to come up with a devastatingly witty remark. But at last she gave in, because it was the truth, and because she couldn’t think of anything else.
    “Long enough,” she said, and shut her eyes in misery.
    Faye descended slowly to stand in front of her. “Do you always spy on other people’s private conversations?”
    “I was here before you came,” Cassie said, with as much spirit as she could manage. If only Faye would stop staring at her like that. Those honey-colored eyes seemed to glow with an eerie, supernatural light. It was focused on Cassie like a laser beam, draining away her will, causing the strength to flow out of her. It was as if Faye wanted her to do something—or wanted something from her. It made her feel so disoriented—so off balance and weak . . .
    And then she felt a sudden surge of strength that seemed to come up from her feet. Or, rather, from the ground beneath them, from the red New England granite that she’d felt buzzing with life earlier. It steadied her, sweeping up and straightening her spine, so that she lifted her chin and looked into those golden eyes without flinching.
    “I was here first,” she said defiantly.
    “Very good,” murmured Faye, and there was an odd look in her eyes. Then she turned her head. “Anything interesting in her backpack?”
    Cassie saw, to her outrage, that Deborah was going through her backpack, throwing things out one by one. “Not much,” the biker said, tossing it on the ground so the rest of its contents scattered down the hillside.
    “All right.” Faye was smiling again, a particularly unpleasant smile that made her red lips look cruel. “I think you were right the first time, Deborah. She’s dead meat.” She looked at Cassie. “You’re